


Open Mouth, Insert Foot; Or, the Adventure of Shawn and the Eldritch Sweater

by dandelioness



Series: Find You Every Time [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Asexual Character, Five Plus One Things, Genderqueer Character, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 14:02:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11403921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelioness/pseuds/dandelioness
Summary: Shawn McLaughlin is not good at first impressions. Or second impressions, really. Maybe he needs to learn to filter his brain before he opens his damn mouth.





	1. (one)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is all Shawn POV, and Abdel doesn't talk about their gender in the first couple chapters. This means that the first few chapters involve unintentional misgendering of a trans/genderqueer character.
> 
> Updates every Wednesday.

That, Shawn thinks, has got to be the single ugliest sweater he's ever seen. Like, so ugly it's practically offensive. It's one solid color, a vague, soft, Seattle sort of grey. Which would actually maybe be nice, if the sweater's maker hadn't been sucked through a vortex in space-time into a dimension where Euclidean geometry wasn't a Thing halfway through the knitting of it. Shawn’s so preoccupied with staring at the Lovecraftian horror that is The Sweater that it takes him a solid minute to pay attention to the poor bastard wearing it.

"Are you – are you quite alright?" The hesitant voice forces Shawn look up at the person attached to The Sweater, who turns out to be a young man with incredibly thick, incredibly dark, incredibly _skeptical_ eyebrows.

He doesn’t really match his Sweater, Shawn thinks, still staring. He's got dark, curly hair tumbling to his jawline on one side of his head, while the other is shaved to almost nothing. Right eyebrow double pierced, both ears lined with glinting silver studs, eyes probably ringed with eyeliner. He is, Shawn decides, much prettier than his Sweater.

“Um, yeah, sorry,” Shawn answers at last with an apologetic grin, shaking himself slightly. The eyebrows get even more skeptical (seriously, how is he even _doing_ that?), which somehow makes Shawn’s mouth do the thing where it forgets to check in with his brain before saying shit. “I normally don’t have a problem where I stare at someone’s chest instead of their face, but that is a seriously disturbing sweater you’re wearing, dude.”

Eldritch Sweater doesn’t even blink at this dismal assessment of his fashion choices, just sorta shrugs and says, “My early forays into knitting were a bit more of an adventure than they really ought to have been.”

“And you still wear them because…?” Shawn asks. Because he has no filter whatsoever, and also he’s curious.

“As a bloody badge of the battles I have suffered and the horrors I have seen,” Eldritch Sweater returns solemnly, and Shawn does one of those ugly snorts of laughter that never make good first impressions. “Now, if you’re quite through insulting my admittedly questionable fashion choices, may I take the liberty of ordering coffee?”

“Oh shit. Fuck. Yeah. My bad.” Between the mocking and the cussing, Shawn could really be running a workshop on customer service today. Fucking incredible.

“Thank you. May I have a large hazelnut latte with two extra shots of espresso, please?”

“Sure thing,” Shawn says, and puts himself back on autopilot since that is obviously safer than like, I dunno, saying the things he actually thinks. Eldritch Sweater pays in cash, thanks Shawn again, and tips him a dollar despite the fact that Shawn insulted him not two minutes ago. He and his Sweater then settle in the front corner of the shop, the one where the windows face the churchyard rather than the street, and take out a Stephen King book.

Although Shawn glances over every few minutes over the course of the next two hours (he's not a creep, honestly, it's just that _Sweater_ ), Eldritch Sweater doesn’t look at him again before he leaves.

Shawn really kinda wishes he had gotten the dude’s name.


	2. (two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> second verse, same as the first (but a whole lot louder and a whole lot worse)

This whole situation, Shawn has decided, is entirely Dad's fault when you get down to it.

Because six years ago, his father had come home grinning with the news that he’d been offered a professorship at some school in Vermont. Which was awesome, right? because that was what Dad had always wanted to be. (Well, _always_ meaning, after the BA in theatre and the culinary degree and the Master’s in secondary education and the PhD in English Lit. So like, for the past three years or so.) Shawn had congratulated him heartily, and then frowned and said, “Wait, you’re moving north on _purpose_?” And Dad had rolled his eyes and Mom had shaken her head fondly and, ultimately, Shawn followed. And yeah, maybe that makes him a momma’s boy or whatever, but man, it’s family.

It hadn’t really been nearly as bad as Shawn, born and raised in Virginia, had expected. Well, winters were a nightmare, Shawn'll stand by that 'til his dying day, but starting three lives over from scratch in a new state was easier than he'd thought. Dad settled right into the university, and Mom made fast friends with the owner of an independent knitting supply store with a terrible pun for a name ( _Gosh Darn-Knit_ , really?) and ended up managing there three days a week. And Shawn, well, Shawn ran into an old college buddy of his in the grocery store one day, because the world is small and fate is kind. They’d reconnected, gotten drunk, and decided to open a coffee shop.

So they bought a small building at the edge of the shopping district (“How the fuck can you afford to _buy a building_ ?” “Well, Leland, I can’t. But I dropped out of college after a semester and a half, so I don’t have student loans and can thus afford a _mortgage_.” “Stop pretending like you’re an adult.” “Fuck you.”), and Shawn moved into the upstairs, because at thirty, it really wasn't ideal to stay with his parents for more than like three days at a time. Then came the sunflower-yellow paint on the downstairs walls (“That looks like piss, McLaughlin.” “You have no soul and hate sunshine, Leland.”), some thrift-store furniture (“It’s hideous.” “It’s comfortable.” “Isn’t your mother an interior decorator? Where the hell did she go wrong with you?”), and a full stainless steel kitchen complete with giant industrial espresso machine (“I don’t think I’ve seen anything more beautiful in my fucking life….What?” “I just…that is literally the first positive thing you’ve said in like two months. Wow.”). When he wasn't bitching about Shawn's admittedly questionable decorative tastes, Lee filed the massive amounts of paperwork and tax forms and other math shit needed for the logistical side of things. And within the year, they were open for business.

And maybe it hadn’t been the traditional method of business planning, but hey, it works. The Coffee House (though the sign just reads, _Coffee!_ , it’s called The Coffee House) is going strong five years later. Lee, who is brilliant but scary, has been relegated to the back-of-house accounting and supply and various other mathematical duties, while Shawn runs the selling and the networking and everything else involving people. They’ve recruited Lee’s girlfriend, an exhilaratingly terrifying baker named Mandy, to make their pastries. The menu changes nearly every day because Mandy’s fickle like that, but it’s all delicious so no one cares. Along the way, he’s picked up a few more helping hands, like Ellen, who is tough as nails but probably the nicest person working there, and whose wife owns Gosh Darn-Knit; and Taylor, Lee’s sixteen-year-old kid sister, a tiny cheerleader with heaps of attitude and a habit of sneaking cigarettes on her breaks. They're a pretty good crew, all told, though Shawn is pretty much the only one for whom  _basic human interaction_ seems to come naturally. Even Ellen is sometimes a little too hardcore for food service, and Tay is just...Tay should frankly not be allowed to interact with the public, but what can you do.

The point is, Shawn is normally pretty good at customer service. It is literally his job to be good at people, since this whole business-ownership shindig runs on customer loyalty. Unfortunately, while he's incredibly charming, he’s also kinda crass and loud and obnoxious by nature, and sometimes he fucks up. He never really fucks up as bad as he did with Eldritch Sweater, though, so he totally understands why the guy doesn’t come back in the week following their discussion on knitting horrors.

He totally _doesn’t_ understand why Eldritch Sweater _does_ show up the next Saturday, but he’s certainly not objecting. Shawn can't help the grin that comes over his face when Eldritch Sweater sweeps in the door just past 8 in the morning, his curls bouncing distractingly. Gone is the yarn abomination that Shawn has named him for, replaced by a grey tee shirt and dark green old man cardigan that is too big and slipping off one shoulder. The whole thing is set off by a large cotton black-and-white patterned scarf draped around his neck and shoulders.

“Dude, you are like, drowning in that scarf,” Shawn comments, because ‘good morning’ is way too mainstream and apparently he’s trying to convince Eldritch Sweater to leave again and never come back this time.

“Keffiyeh,” Eldritch Sweater says with a sigh.

“Gesundheit?”

“It’s not a scarf, it’s a keffiyeh,” Eldritch Sweater explains patiently, a small frown on his face. Shawn takes the frown to mean that the dude has to explain this to idiots like Shawn on a regular basis. “It’s a garment traditional to the Middle East, with particular significance to Palestine. In the latter half of the twentieth century, it became associated with Palestinian nationalist movements, and in the West it’s worn as a symbol of Palestinian solidarity. And also,” he adds, irritation clear in his voice, “by ignorant white hipsters.”

“Gotcha,” Shawn says. “How about in exchange for the activism lesson, I make you a coffee. Hazelnut latte, right?”

Eldritch Sweater’s eyebrows go up, once more rendering Shawn infinitely curious as to how the hell _eyebrows_ can look skeptical. Because these do. These are the most skeptical of eyebrows. “You remembered," he says, in a tone that leaves it unclear whether this is a good thing. "Yes, please. With only one extra shot of espresso today.”

“Dude, how much caffeine do you drink?” Shawn asks disbelievingly. Anyone who regularly has this much espresso this early on a Saturday morning could probably rival Shawn's parents in the caffeine-consumption department, and that's scary. Eldritch doesn’t answer, just does… _something_ with his eyebrows. Shawn is properly shamed. When Eldritch Sweater tries to pass him a five, Shawn shakes his head. “This one’s on me.”

“Thank you,” Eldritch Sweater says, surprised. Shawn shrugs. It’s the least he can do, really. And it’s like an apology for his behavior, but with more espresso. Which is totally better, right?

As he turns to start making the drink, he asks over his shoulder, “So what, you’re some kind of political activist, then?” When he just gets eyebrows in response, he adds, “The scarf. Keffiyeh. Since you’re not, ya know, a white hipster kid, you wear it for political reasons?” Emphasis on the ‘white,’ Shawn thinks. Look at that friggin' sweater –– dude is definitely at least 63% hipster.

“It…doesn’t feel political to me,” Eldritch Sweater says slowly, giving Shawn a considering look. “But then, as those around me insist on reminding me, the personal is political. I’m Palestinian. My parents emigrated here when they were young, just married, and my mother still have family over there. And it’s…it’s home, in a way, though I’ve never been there. Whenever there's news of a, a bombing or something, and we're waiting to hear from my aunt, I feel helpless, you know? The keffiyeh is a way that I connect to that part of myself, how I stand in solidarity with my family and my own history.”

“That is incredibly badass, dude,” Shawn says, a little bit of awe in his voice, as he hands over the giant steaming mug of latte.

Eldritch Sweater just blinks at him for a second. “Thank you.”

“Doesn’t really go with the cardigan, though.”

Eldritch Sweater rolls his eyes at that, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, chasing away the serious, contemplative look of his explanation. Raising his mug in a toast toward Shawn, just says, “Duly noted,” before retiring to his corner with his book.


	3. (three)

Unlike his useless employees (here's looking at you, Taylor Leland), Shawn loves working Saturday mornings. Before ten, you don’t really get a lot of people crowding into the coffee shops; or at least, not like you do on weekdays. The college crowd (and at least one of his useless employees) are sleeping off hangovers, and actually, so are a lot of the nine-to-fivers, probably. Shawn’s got a couple of regulars who come in and have some coffee and a muffin while they sit and read the paper, and the odd person running in and out between errands or weekend work, but all in all? It means Shawn gets to relax a bit more, experiment with new drinks, and maybe even have actual conversations with his customers. It’s nice.

Coincidentally, Eldritch Sweater is also nice. He’s become a Saturday regular, showing up every week at eight o'clock _exactly_ , ordering his latte, and sitting in the corner to read for a few hours. Always a Stephen King book; since September, Shawn has watched him work his way through most of King’s early classics. From his incredibly expressive eyebrows, Shawn has deduced that Eldritch Sweater liked _The Shining_ , possibly disapproved of several passages of _Carrie_ , couldn’t get enough of ‘ _Salem’s Lot_ , and hated _Pet Sematary_. Dude goes through almost a book a week.

Not that Shawn pays like weird amounts of attention, or anything. Even if he does know — or guess — kind of a lot about Eldritch Sweater, it's just because Saturday morning regulars are like, his people. At this point, Shawn’s like 82% sure Eldritch Sweater’s a college student of some kind, though whether undergrad or graduate is still an unknown. Saturday mornings seem to be his downtime; Shawn never sees him during the week.

Until, that is, Eldritch Sweater comes bursting through the door at 7:30 on a Thursday morning in late October, clutching a beat-up backpack and completely out of breath. He’s tapping his foot and checking his watch as he waits in line, and if this were a cartoon there’d be a terrifying dark cloud around his head chasing everyone away. As it is, his scowling glare is doing the job pretty well.

Shawn keeps sneaking looks at him, even as he rings out the million other people of the weekday morning rush, calling orders to Tay as she works her magic on the espresso machine with unlikely speed. Eldritch Sweater isn’t as put-together as usual today, just a t-shirt with a patched-up denim jacket tossed over it. Missing is the keffiyeh, gone absurd number of layers, hidden the flyaway hair, under a knit beanie sitting crooked on his head. As he steps up to the counter, Shawn can see the shirt more clearly. It’s purple, emblazoned with black, grey, white, and purple stripes and the legend, _sexual orientation: not you_.

“That’s harsh, man,” Shawn says lightly, already grabbing a to-go cup, prepared to make the usual latte. (He's partial to regulars who always order the same thing, finds it weirdly endearing.) When Eldritch Sweater just blinks at him in grumpy confusion, Shawn adds, “Your shirt. Harsh.”

Eldritch Sweater purses his lips. “It’s also universally true,” he snaps. “And it’s not exactly my priority to cater to the feelings of others with regards to my own sexuality. Large red-eye, please, to go.”

“Aye, aye,” Shawn says with a mock salute. He’s a little bit taken aback by Eldritch Sweater’s response because the dude is generally just so _nice_ , but hey, Shawn probably just said something offensive, so. He taps Tay out of the ring, switching places with her so he can do this order personally. He makes the red-eye quickly, adding just a bit of extra espresso and the tiniest hint of some hazelnut and chocolate flavors. Because he’s a nice person like that. And also as a reward for putting up with him. “Here you go. Have a good one, okay?”

Eldritch Sweater’s face softens very slightly and he says, “Thank you,” quietly before he’s out the door and half-running up the street.

When Shawn turns back to his counter, Mandy has popped out from the kitchen with another tray of muffins and is looking at him with something like amused pity. “You’ve got it bad, boy,” she informs him.

“Shut up,” Shawn tells her cheerfully, tapping Taylor back in, and takes the next order.

On Saturday morning, Eldritch Sweater shows up at exactly eight, as always, looking exhausted and clutching his book.

“Morning, starshine,” Shawn greets him brightly. The world makes sense again. “We back to hazelnut lattes?”

“Please,” Eldritch Sweater sighs. He’s in an argyle sweater vest this morning, which looks lovely with the keffiyeh and the same patched denim jacket from earlier this week.  Shawn swears, he never used to pay attention to clothes, but Eldritch Sweater’s fashion sense is so _warped_ that Shawn’s kind of in awe. “Two extra shots of espresso today.”

“You’re going to have a heart attack one of these days,” Shawn tells him seriously, even as he goes about making the latte. Eldritch Sweater rolls his eyes and counts out his change. Just once, Shawn wishes the dude would pay with a card so he could get his name. Like, he could always just _ask_ , he supposes, but like, has this already been happening too long and it'd be awkward to ask now? Oh well.

As they exchange latte for cash, Shawn sees that the patch on Eldritch Sweater’s right shoulder reads, white letters on a rainbow background, _fuck the gender binary_ . Shawn has no idea what a gender binary is, so he makes a note to google it rather than ask. Contrary to appearances, he doesn’t actually _want_ to keep fucking up with Eldritch Sweater.

As if he’s reading Shawn’s mind, Eldritch Sweater hesitates before going over to his chair. “I — I wanted to apologize for snapping the other day,” he says tentatively.

Shawn shrugs. “It’s cool, dude.  Looked like you were having a bad day. And, per usual, I was being a bit of an ass.”

“Well,” Eldritch Sweater seems conflicted. Like he wants to be the one apologizing here, but he also wants to acknowledge that Shawn is an ass. Shawn just laughs, which actually makes Eldritch Sweater _blush_ . “Still. I mean. I am sorry. I know you probably didn’t mean — but I was running late and my coffee maker was broken and my ex-boyfriend called to demand his stuff back which I no longer even _have_ because he’s a _dick_ which made me even more late and then Harry made some sort of comment about how _see this is one more reason why you shouldn’t date_ and so by the time I got here and you made some smart remark about my damned pride shirt which I was only wearing to feel better about the whole thing —"

“Dude,” Shawn interrupts, because Eldritch Sweater’s babbling is starting to seem a little panicked. “Dude, it’s cool, okay? I’m sorry to have made your bad day worse, you’re sorry for snapping, we’re cool. Yeah?”

“It means I’m asexual,” Eldritch Sweater says. Which is kinda like _yeah, okay_ except in how it’s not at all. “The shirt. The flag is the asexuality pride flag.”

“Asexual?” Shawn repeats with a small frown. Huh. He’s never heard of that one. “So like, I’m guessing you don’t reproduce by cloning so,” he smiles guiltily as Eldritch Sweater huffs a slightly bitter laugh, which makes Shawn wonder how many times he’s heard _that_ joke. “A-sexual. Like, you don’t — you’re not sexually interested in other people?”

Eldritch Sweater blinks in obvious surprise, and his breath comes out in a relieved _whoosh_. “Yes, actually. I don’t experience sexual attraction to people of any gender.”

“Gotcha. Hence, your shirt being ‘universally true.’”

Eldritch Sweater winces slightly at the air quotes. “Yes.”

“Lemme guess,” Shawn says before he can stop himself, pieces of Eldritch Sweater’s story falling into place. “The dick ex-boyfriend is an ex because he didn’t get the whole not-sex thing?”

“You are…surprisingly astute,” Eldritch Sweater tells Shawn, looking at him strangely. Like he’s never really seen Shawn before.

Shawn gives him his best shit-eating grin. “Yep. Now go drink your coffee, I’ve got other customers coming in.”  Which is true, but Eldritch Sweater looks so chagrined by the dismissal that Shawn adds, “Also, if we keep talking, the part of me that’s a total dumbass — which is literally like 92% of me — is gonna rear it’s ugly head and say something insulting.”

“Fair,” Eldritch Sweater says with something like a smile. Shawn’s heart does a triumphant backflip in his chest (which he totally refuses to acknowledge) and if he smiles too big at his next customer in line, well. Customer service.


	4. (four)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning feels off from the very beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: references to past suicides attempts

The morning feels off from the very beginning. Or, at least that's what Shawn tells himself, because it would be weird to say that the morning felt off starting at exactly 8 when Eldritch Sweater failed to sweep through the door with his usual air of caffeine-deprived desperation with a thin veneer of calm. It would be weird for Shawn to organize his Saturday mornings around the arrival of his favorite customer, so that is definitely not a thing that Shawn does.

When Eldritch Sweater does make an appearance, it's almost nine, and Shawn almost does a double take –- the dude looks a fuckin’ _mess_ . His sweater, a thrift store monstrosity straight out of the nineties that features at least four distinct patterns, is slightly too small rather than his usual way-too-big and is on backwards and _inside out_ , the tag sticking up and brushing his chin. The hint of eye makeup Shawn is now positive the dude wears is mysteriously absent (Shawn knew he couldn’t be _that_ pretty naturally. It just wouldn’t be fair). He’s forgotten a jacket altogether in New England _December_ , and the lumpy blue scarf draped half-heartedly around his neck isn't gonna cut it in subfreezing temperatures. He looks distracted and he doesn’t quite manage to smile at Shawn when he gets to the register.

“Hey, you okay? You look like you’re falling apart,” Shawn asks quietly. It’s totally overstepping his bounds, but hey, it’s not like that ever stops him around Eldritch Sweater.

“No, I…do you make hot cocoa?” Eldritch Sweater asks distractedly. He absentmindedly scratches at the edge of his sleeve, pushing it up slightly, and Shawn catches sight of words on scrawled on his forearm. Huh. Shawn hadn't exactly expected the kid to be inked.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Shawn says easily. He keeps some decent instant mix around in the winter, but for this he's gonna go whole hog. His mom's got a special cocoa recipe that she has forbidden Shawn from marketing, but Eldritch Sweater looks like he needs it kinda desperately. “Didn’t expect you to have tattoos,” he says casually, in an attempt to bring Eldritch Sweater out of wherever he’s at in his head. “Though I dunno why I’m surprised, since you dress like some sort of horrific punk-hipster crossbreed.” Shawn really knows how to give a compliment. “What’s it say?”

Eldritch Sweater looks down at his arm in surprise, like he’d forgotten the tattoo was even there. Which, Shawn can relate. He's lost track of the number of times he's caught sight of one of his own tattoos out of the corner of his eye, early in the morning before coffee, and tried to swat it off or panicked that Lee was drawing on him again.

“Nothing,” Eldritch says quickly, tugging his too-short sleeve back down over his wrist. Then, convulsively, he pushes it back up and shoves his arm at Shawn. “It says, _what do we say to the god of death?_ ” It does, indeed, say that, in a broad, looping script that crawls most of the way to his elbow.

“And what do we say?” Shawn prompts, dipping behind the counter for a second to see if they still have any of those little marshmallows or if Mandy’s eaten them all. When he pops back up, Eldritch Sweater’s other arm is in his face. There’s another tattoo to mirror the first, and up close Shawn can see the fading remains of a dark scar that slashes up the dude’s wrist and forearm under the ink.

“ _Not today_ ,” Eldritch Sweater says, and it’s practically a whisper. Then he’s tugging his sleeves back down over his wrists and Shawn understands suddenly why he’s never Seen Eldritch Sweater in short sleeves before, even when it warmed up for a few glorious days of false summer this fall. Because Shawn knows scars like that, has seen them before. Lee sports a double set, one white and thin and mostly faded; another thick and pink and shiny, longer and deeper than the first, fresher. The bastard had almost succeeded the second time, and Shawn had almost strangled him for it. Lee's not big on short sleeves either.

“Neat,” Shawn says casually. It’s not, _jesus fuck you’re brave_ , but it’s something. “How do you feel about peppermint?” He’s got a lot of it lying around because of the whole Christmastime thing, really the only concession he and Lee have made to the season. (The fairy lights lining the front window are entirely Mandy’s doing, and Shawn hadn’t objected because Tay looked way too happy with being in charge of the staple gun.)

“Um,” Eldritch Sweater starts, and Shawn thinks that everything’s probably gonna throw the dude off today. “Yes? I’m sorry I’m discombobulated, it’s just –- today’s the anniversary –- I don’t ––"

_Oh shit._ “Peppermint sticks in hot cocoa are a gift from god,” Shawn informs him sagely, and promptly adds one to the mug. It’s totally a masterpiece of cocoa, if Shawn does say so himself. Rich cocoa topped with the peppermint, whipped cream, those little marshmallows (Mandy has apparently eaten only half of them), and real chocolate flakes. “Here ya go. It’s on the house,” he adds hurriedly when Eldritch Sweater fumbles for his wallet. Mom would kill him if he charged for this shit anyway, he tells himself. What he says is, “Happy anniversary.”

Eldritch Sweater’s face closes off instantly, and he snaps furiously, “It’s not that kind of anniversary,” before stalking off to his corner. Today, he’s reading the world’s most battered copy of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_.

Two hours later, Shawn sends Tay over (yeah maybe he’s a coward, whatever, get over it) with another cocoa, a brownie, and note that reads, _I know what kind of anniversary it is. I meant to say, awesome job on being alive_.

Shawn isn’t brave enough to look over to see Eldritch Sweater’s reaction, because he knows it’s gotta be a sensitive subject, but he crosses his fingers under the counter. It doesn’t pay off, though –– less than a minute after Shawn sends Tay over, Eldritch Sweater is bustling out the door, book clutched to his chest.

_At least he took the cocoa with him_ , Shawn thinks despairingly. And then, _shit, bastard took my mug_.


	5. (five)

To Shawn’s never-ending surprise, Eldritch Sweater continues to show up at the Coffee House. (It's January before Shawn hears him refer to it as "Coffee-Exclamation-Point," and he has to smother his laugh while Lee explains that despite the sign reading COFFEE!, it's actually just called the Coffee House, and that Shawn is a nightmare person. Eldritch Sweater flushes slightly at the correction, but calmly agrees with Lee's assessment of Shawn.)

The two of them have fallen into a vaguely friendly pattern, wherein Shawn continues to insult Eldritch Sweater’s fashion choices and Eldritch Sweater retorts with ever-increasing exasperation. One day, Shawn informs Eldritch Sweater that, if he doesn’t get a haircut soon, birds may attempt to nest on his head. Eldritch Sweater responds with a sigh, a snide remark about how Shawn's own set-of-clippers-and-a-bathroom-mirror cut doesn't exactly leave him room to talk; and returns the next week with a partially-shaved ‘do he calls an undercut. Another time, Shawn interrupts a perusal of _Nightmares and Dreamscapes_ to tell Eldritch Sweater that he reads more Stephen King books than anyone he’s ever met, and Shawn really expected him to have better taste than that. So Shawn is treated to a ten-minute lecture about the growth and development of King’s writing, the intricacy of his world-building, and the interconnectedness of all his novels (the word "multiverse" is used, and Shawn is delighted); he ends the speech by saying in tones of mild superiority, “Besides, I’m a graduate student, this is only what I read when my brain needs time off.” Still, Shawn slips him a Shirley Jackson anthology with his latte the next week.

Yet another time, Shawn is bitching loudly to Leland (in on a Saturday for once in his lazy-ass life, grumbling something about _receipts, McLaughlin,_ and _dammit I’m trying to file our taxes on time this_ year) about the weather because February is frigging _freezing_ in Vermont, okay? And Eldritch Sweater stalks over from his corner (where he’s reading the Shirley Jackson book, Shawn notes with a completely warranted sense of triumph) and tosses a scarf at Shawn with the demand to, “Please shut up about how cold it is, you – you Southern pansy. Some of us are trying to enjoy our caffeine in peace.” It’s forest green and lumpy and clearly hand-knitted and Shawn wears it every day.

In early April, they get the first nice day they’ve had since maybe September. The sun is out, the birds are singing, the snow has all melted, and it’s finally warm enough that Shawn is beginning to believe he doesn’t actually live in the tundra. He could honestly cry from relief. Spring has come, Aslan is on the fucking move, and Shawn is only wearing two layers today. And at eight o’clock, Eldritch Sweater walks in wearing a button down, his keffiyeh, the green cardigan, and a loose, grey, knee-length skirt.

Several of the Saturday morning regulars blink at Eldritch Sweater in confusion, one of them (black coffee and a blueberry scone with his _New York Times_ ) frowning at Eldritch Sweater something fierce.

“I’m really concerned about your fashion coordination skills,” Shawn informs Eldritch Sweater with a melodramatic sigh as soon as he reaches the counter. “Like, seriously dude, the Docs and the skirt?”

“I only have one other pair of shoes,” Eldritch Sweater says primly, putting on some mild skeptical eyebrows. (For the last three months, Shawn's been holding a heated internal debate about whether there needs to be a numerical rating system for eyebrow skepticism. So far he’s just gone with varying levels of _mild_ , _middling_ , and _severe._ ) “And they’re my dress shoes. I can’t wear dress shoes with a casual skirt.”

“Yeah but like…I don’t even know what look you’re going for anymore,” Shawn whines. Because he is the best at flirting.

The skeptical eyebrows gain strength. “Do I not look like my usual, ah, ‘horrific punk-hipster crossbreed’ today?”

Shawn squints at him. Eldritch Sweater tugs idly at one of his ear piercings. “Heavier leanings toward hipster than usual.”

“Well, it’s spring. I wanted to welcome the season with something a little different.”

“Admirers everywhere of your scrawny bird legs are thanking the weather gods,” Shawn tells him seriously. Eldritch Sweater just snorts at the pathetic excuse for a compliment. “How many shots of espresso today?”

“Just two, please, and can you do whatever it was you did last week with the mocha?”

“Sure thing. It’s an awesome combination, right? Does like, wonders for the hazelnut.” Shawn could make lattes in his sleep, and basically does some mornings, but he always pays extra attention to Eldritch Sweater’s. It's to like, make up for all the insults or something. Suddenly, something clicks in Shawn’s brain, a combination of the skirt and the eye makeup and the _fuck the gender binary_ patch, and he blurts, “Oh yeah. You got a gender, by the way?"

Shit fucking  _fuckity ––_

Eldritch Sweater stares at Shawn in shocked silence for a second, and Shawn hurries to correct himself. "Pronouns, shit. I'm trying to ask your pronouns. 'Cause -- 'cause of the skirt and the gay-ass patches on your jacket and -- please help me out here, man."

Something like an incredulous smile starts in the corner of Eldritch Sweater's mouth. "I -- no, I haven't got a gender. I use they, them, and theirs." He --  _they_ \-- stare at Shawn a bit longer, their eyebrows doing some sort of thing that Shawn's  _clearly underprepared_ rating system has no level for, and he has to look away, stare down at the steamed milk he's pouring like it holds the secrets of the universe. "And yourself?"

Shawn looks up, relieved at the eyebrows that have finally settled into what's probably amusement, and offers up a crooked grin of his own. "Uh, he and him and all that."

"And all that," Eldritch Sweater agrees solemnly, and yeah, Shawn's definitely being made fun of.

He waves it off and shoves the mug at them. "Yeah, yeah, go drink your latte, you genderless hipster dweeb."

“When it comes to customer service, you are the single worst barista I have ever had the displeasure of meeting,” Eldritch Sweater sighs. Still, they've got a wry smile in place, and they glance up at Shawn a bit more often the rest of the morning, if only to sigh and shake their head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was a lot of parenthetical asides, I almost wish I were sorry.


	6. (and once more, with feeling)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or, part six: Return of the Eldritch Sweater Itself

April draws to a close with warmer weather and sunshine breaking through the near-constant chill rain of early spring. The first hints of green begin to appear on the tips of tree branches and in the chill muck of gardens. Shawn should know better, but hope springs eternal (pun wholeheartedly intended) and he lets his guard down, breaks out the short sleeves and his leather jacket, stuffs his wool mittens and heavy overcoat into the back of the closet.

So inevitably, the first weekend in May greets him with a freak cold snap –– temperatures drop into the 30s and flurries drift mockingly through the air. Shawn wraps himself in his lumpy scarf and grumbles about it to Mandy and anyone else who will listen between customers. Horrible _New England_ customers who are  _completely unfazed_ by the weather's betrayal. Shawn hates the whole world. And of course, of  _fucking course_ , his day only gets worse when Eldritch Sweater fails to sweep through the door at eight o’clock.

In order to talk himself out of his completely inappropriate heart-wrenching disappointment, Shawn busies himself with making a mental list of reasons he has _no right_ to be disappointed at all. It goes something like this: _Eldritch Sweater has a whole life outside of this damn coffee shop. They are a student and probably have a lot of work this time of year. They could have chosen to sleep in for once, God knows they never do. Also they have zero obligation to you, Shawn so shut the fuck up and move on with your day Jesus._

Here are the things Shawn knows about Eldritch Sweater: They drink far too much espresso, and Shawn is convinced they will die from either a caffeine overdose or a heart attack by the time they're forty. They have a bit of a sweet tooth, and don't like their coffee to taste like coffee unless the only purpose is to mainline caffeine as quickly as possible. They only own two pairs of shoes.

They have the most expressive and skeptical eyebrows Shawn has ever had the privilege to witness. They're a giant nerd and a big a fan of _Buffy the Vampire Slayer,_ and one of the patches on their punk-ass denim jacket features a drawing of a battleaxe and the words  _are you ready to be strong_. They've got a lot of piercings, two incredible tattoos, and no gender to speak of. They're asexual, and their best friend doesn't think they should attempt dating as often as they do.

They've read almost everything Stephen King has ever written. They knit –– poorly, a hobby they picked up not too long after they got those scars. They grew up in Vermont, but did their undergrad in New York City. They have the most absurd collection of hideous sweaters Shawn has ever seen.

Here are the things Shawn does not know about Eldritch Sweater: their name.

Which is how Shawn knows that he totally cannot be in love with the dude, or anything stupid like that. You can't be in love with someone if you don't know their  _fucking_ name, right? Right.

All the same, Shawn can feel his treacherous face split into an enormous grin when Eldritch Sweater finally bustles through the door half an hour before closing.

“You’re twelve hours late, dude,” Shawn tells them.

Eldritch Sweater gives him a Look, with some like, category 4 eyebrows (because yeah, that rating system needed numbers), and unwinds the scarf from around their face. "Yes, well I just finished my last paper of my graduate school career, and all that's left is an hour long presentation on Monday and I'll be  _finished_. So I," they draw a deep breath like someone coming up from underwater. "Am here for a celebratory latte."

“I am not giving you three shots of espresso at this hour,” Shawn tells them sternly, even as he gets the drink started. “You’ll end up worse than my parents, who drink coffee at eleven o’clock at night and then stay up ‘til three like goddamn teenagers.”

“Yes, well, you’re just a grumpy old man,” Eldritch Sweater says serenely and shakes their mittens at him. “Give me three shots of espresso and be grateful I'm not asking for more.”

“You’re a sick ticket,” Shawn tells them with a sigh. Then, “Oh my god. That _sweater_.”  Because Eldritch Sweater has shrugged out of their oversized winter coat, and they are wearing the damn Sweater. It has _not_ improved upon better acquaintance.

“Yes,” Eldritch Sweater replies, corners of their mouth twitching up. “Do you still find it, what were your words, ‘seriously disturbing?’”

“ _Yes_ ,” Shawn says emphatically, and flails more than he probably should while holding a breakable coffee mug. “Seriously, dude, that thing is like Lovecraftian levels of terrifying. I’m afraid that if I look at it too long I’ll go mad.”

“Are you so critical of all your customers?” Eldritch Sweater asks. The eyebrows are in play again.

“Nope,” Shawn answers honestly with a shrug and a grin. “Just you. It’s because I like you so much,” he adds, matter of fact.

"Mhmm," Eldritch Sweater hums, unimpressed and unconvinced.

“Also because that sweater is actually an abomination against God and the universe. D’you wanna go out with me sometime?” And oops. He hadn’t actually intended to say that.

“What.” It’s not even a question. Eldritch Sweater seems truly dumbfounded, and actually almost kinda offended. Which, ya know, stings.

 _Well_ , Shawn thinks, _too_ _late for_ _takebacks,_ and takes a deep breath. “Do you wanna go out with me sometime? Like, on a date. Like, tonight, maybe, after I get off work?"

Eldritch Sweater is deploying the skeptical eyebrows with deadly force. Like, there is no category for this. “You’re asking me out?”

“Yes?”  _Confidence is key, McLaughlin_ , Shawn thinks despairingly.

“You. Are asking me. Out. On a date.”

Oh God, did Shawn like _break_ them or something? He clears his throat. “Look I mean it’s obviously cool if you don’t want to, ya know, it's fine. I mean I’m really rude and annoying and insult you all the time, so like I get that I probably haven’t exactly made the best impression --"

“You insult me or my fashion sense every single week, without fail,” Eldritch Sweater tells him, slow and patient, like they have lay it all out for Shawn. “You know I’m not interested in sex, and you are, according to Taylor,  _painfully straight_."

"Yeah, you shouldn't talk to Tay, she's full of shit," Shawn offers weakly, but Eldritch Sweater plows onward.

"You told your mother that I am, and I quote, _like, stupid weird_.”

"Wait, hold the fucking phone –– how do you know my mother?" To be fair, he had also told his mom that Eldritch Sweater was  _stupid awesome_ , but that is  _so far_ from the point right now.

And this, for some reason, this is what pushes Eldritch Sweater over the edge. "Where do you think I get my knitting supplies, Shawn?" They demand semi-hysterically, gesturing at their own sweater so broadly their coat  _thwak_ s against the counter. "You two have the same brand of terrifying nonchalance, it became clear very quickly that you're related!"

"Jesus Christ ––"

"You can't just –– just say all this and then  _ask me out_ ," they finish, eyes wide and eyebrows officially off the charts. And Shawn's only just worked out a reliable numeric rating system. Damn.

“My mating dance is complex and not for the faint of heart?” Shawn tries, but quickly deflates. “Dude, it’s cool, I get it. I know I’m not exactly dating material. Forget I asked. And uh, latte’s free today, in recompense for putting up with my embarrassing shit.” The latte that Shawn has completely abandoned in favor of the  _worst conversation ever_.

“I didn’t –-" Eldritch Sweater makes some unidentifiable noise of distress and flails some more. “So you’re not joking?”

“Um, no?” Shawn says, completely thrown. “What? No, I legit think you’re awesome and would like to date you.”

“Okay,” Eldritch Sweater says.

Shawn stares. “Okay?”

“Okay.” A smile starts to spread over Eldritch Sweater’s face, and it's possibly one of the most beautiful things Shawn's ever seen.

“Wait, you’re saying yes?” Shawn asks in disbelief.

“Yes, Shawn, yes," Eldritch Sweater says with a good-natured eye roll. "Try and keep up, hmm?"

"Hey, cut me some slack, asshat," Shawn returns, waving the still-empty mug at their face. "Two seconds ago you were half-hysterical about the whole thing."

Eldritch Sweater chooses to ignore this comment entirely and merely says, "When do you get off work?"

Shawn laughs, a surprised, joyful sound that he hadn't really expected from himself. "Dude, I own the place, I can do whatever I want. Hey, Ellen!" he adds, shouting toward the back.

"The thought of you as a business owner still makes me uneasy," Eldritch Sweater informs him dryly. "Also, I'm going to need that latte in a to-go cup, please."

Shawn's still thinking of a response to  _that_ when Ellen pokes her head out of the kitchen. "Yeah, boss?"

She calls him that as a joke, given that he's flailing and uncertain and nearly thirty years younger, but he'll take it in this moment as a challenge to Eldritch Sweater's insolence.

"I've got a hot date and I'm skipping out on my responsibilities. You good to close up by yourself or you want me to call in the calvary?" The calvary of course, being Lee. Who isn't really needed, necessarily, but Shawn just likes trolling the bastard. Unfortunately, Ellen knows this about him.

"Nah, hon, I'm good. You kids have fun," she adds with a wink to Eldritch Sweater. Shawn does not blush; he does flip her off affectionately.

"Alright, so I'm free whenever," he says, finally making Eldritch Sweater's drink. "What, uh, what d'you wanna do?"

"You asked me," Eldritch Sweater points out with skeptical eyebrows at a mild category 1.

"Yeah, well, I didn't do it on purpose," Shawn grumbles. "I mean, shit," he fumbles as Eldritch Sweater's eyes go wide, taken aback. "Shit. I meant that I didn't exactly plan on asking today. Anyway, you can't blame me for assuming you'd say no."

"Mmm," they hum, and give Shawn a calculating look. "You like horror movies?"

"Yeah, duh. Why do you think I own a Shirley Jackson anthology? Well, more like three, but anyway."

"You are a secret nerd, aren't you?" Eldritch Sweater muses. It's not a secret, exactly, but Shawn shrugs assent anyway. "Well, Whedon's horror film,  _Cabin in the Woods_ , is playing at that $5 theater, Cheap Seats. We could -- we could do that?"

“That sounds awesome. I’ll sneak in brownies and we can get popcorn, perfect combination,” he adds knowledgeably.

Eldritch Sweater shakes their head in a way that Shawn suddenly realizes is _fond_  and says, “I’ll take your word for it.”

Shawn grins and, with a flourish, takes off his apron and throws it behind the counter, resolutely ignoring the ensuing minor crashing noises. “You ready to go?” he asks Eldritch Sweater.

"As soon as you give me my damned coffee, I am."

"Ah, shit. Yeah, yeah, here you go." While he's at it, Shawn grabs a cup of the dark roast for himself, if for nothing else than to keep warm in this miserable friggin weather. He grabs his coat and his beautiful lumpy scarf –– and he doesn't think he's imagining that Eldritch Sweater's smile grows when they see it. "Let's do this. Mind if I drive?"

“Well, I don’t have a car,” Eldritch Sweater says frankly. "So no, not in the slightest."

“Cool beans,” Shawn says, jingling his keys in the air. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the Junk Bucket. Uh, speaking of,” he adds as he holds open the door for Eldritch Sweater. “Before this gets to the point where it’d be too awkward to ask, what’s your name?”

Eldritch Sweater stops dead in their tracks and turns to stare disbelievingly at Shawn. For a good long while, they seem to have lost all power of speech, and the two of them just stand there, facing each other in the fading light. Shawn's the first to break eye contact when he has to blink a snowflake away, and that seems to break the spell.

"What," Eldritch Sweater says faintly, "Does that have to do with your car being called -- rather alarmingly, I might add -- the Junk Bucket?"

“It doesn’t,” Shawn admits. “But there is like, literally no good way to segue into that question when I’ve known you since September and am about to take you on a date.”

“Fair,” Eldritch Sweater says like they can't quite believe this conversation is actually happening to them. At last, they just shake their head and, smiling, holds out their hand. “Hello, Shawn. I’m Abdel Awad.”

“Abdel,” Shawn repeats, shaking the offered hand. He likes the way the name feels in his mouth. “Abdel Awad. Well it's nice to meet you. I'm Shawn McLaughlin.”

"I know," they say with a smile.  _Abdel_ says with a smile.

"Anyway, Abdel is a way better name than Eldritch Sweater."

Eldri – Abdel nearlychokes on their own laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you friends for reading this thing!! Shawn and Abdel are my two fave OCs, and I generally write about them as a character exercise or to get my brain moving when I can't write anything else. Stay tuned for more versions of these dumbasses falling in love in the next installment of Find You Every Time, the sappiest title I could think of.


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